Together
by maidenstage
Summary: There was no 'saving' them. They didn't need it. Together, they were whole. Together, their sin's felt right. Together, they were home. Gift drabble for p-y-r-otechnic-ROYAL because RoMin is her baby .


Random RoMin drabble for Ari ( theladyminerva ) and Roxy ( sahteenx ) because I love you both so here~

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"You enjoyed that."

It wasn't a question, not with how he had phrased it. Yet Minerva could only summon enough energy to twitch her shoulders in what resembled a shrug. She let him bask in the moment they shared (she did _not_ want to call it a 'glow'- they weren't that sentimental), content with the feel of her body laying on top of his. She had since abandoned the need to keep her facade at a cool shade, since at this point Rogue had _thoroughly_ ripped the mask off her. _Apparently excessive copulation does that to men…_ Her mouth twitched, their ruby shaded lips obscured ( _thankfully_ ) from his ever-watchful gaze, though she sensed that he felt the movement against his chest. Receiving no response, Minerva stayed silent and continued to lay against the Shadow Dragon slayer's chest without comment.

It was like a dance, she later realized; they would dip and sway in tandem to each other, gauging their reaction, waiting for the right moment to clash together for the final execution. Neither would willing give any ground unless there was a sign for there to give any. The result was the cry, shrill yet passionate and the taste of their desire full on their tongue. One would shift and the other would follow suit, giving the play a life that was so lacking in their lives before.

"…perhaps." _Perhaps indeed._

A snort that _sounded_ like a chuckle vibrated against her cheek, to which she frowned in kind. Lifting her head up, ignoring the disheveled state of her hair to level herself face to face with her shadowed companion. _Her shadow warrior._ The title came to her mind, for he did indeed look well at home in darkness, though some part of her thought she should be frightened, and yet she felt at peace. Minerva knew better though- her soul held a taint of its own; it was a kinship they both shared.

" _You_ certainly look… _satisfied_." She couldn't help that her lips, ripe and sanguine and perhaps a little bit bruised, started to curl in amusement, which instigated another chuckle. Another lifetime ago, Minerva would never have smiled with the genuine feeling of contentment coloring her expression. _A lifetime ago, this would never have been possible._ The thought startled her more than it should have, yet the truth rang with solid clarity. It was only a simple smile, with no benevolent intent hidden, its foundation wrought by the man she laid with. There was no need to mock or goad an enemy into battle, and neither did her lips turn into a sneer that was an echo of a father lacking in love.

She stumbled over that word, a brief hesitation and test to how the syllables tasted silently upon her tongue, and she found that it felt right- strange perhaps, however, as untested as the syllable was, Minerva did not flinch at the possibility it held. Looking up into his red faceted ocular, the word never felt more right when placing her feelings out on display.

"I am, indeed, _incredibly_ satisfied," There was more to be said about how he felt, in particular about the woman laying quite languidly and inexplicably _delicious_ against his chest; however, he staved from further seduction. He recognized the shift in her features, the shadows that played upon her face were as easy to read as an open book; the Lady of Sabertooth, who prided herself to be self-sufficient and perfectly capablein control of her emotions, who never revealed her thoughts to anyone.

The same woman who felt very warm, very soft and pliant from recent activities (of which he planned on instigating _later_ ), held his gaze that revealed much pain that she had kept hidden in the dark. If there was one thing that tied them together, the palpable attraction between them notwithstanding, it was how their shadows seemed to imprint upon their essence and bring them solace despite their past darkness.

"Of course," Languidly his fingers twined with the escaped tendrils of hair from her crown, a soft quirk of the corner of his lips brought a ghost of a smile. "My pleasure pales in comparison to how my Lady's–"

It was her turn to snort. "Now you sound like _Sting_."

His face twisted in disgust. "Do not even joke about that. He might be summoned, and then I'd have to kill him."

She choked on the laughter that bubbled in her throat, instead she merely smirked. There was no doubt of how serious he was. A brief pause passed between them, before the dam of sound broke, and both dissolved into fits of soft laughter. Though the thought was morbid, it flared briefly and with little harm done. This instigated a shift, their flesh resonating closer as the press of bodies collided close together, bare flesh touching with gentle intensity that did not hide their obvious need for one another. A time when they would have questioned the magnetic pull, perhaps accused one another of pulling a slight of hand.

Was it a wonder of how easily they accepted one another?

In time they relapsed back into comfortable silence, content with each other and the languid moment they shared together. In the distance the chime of a clock counted once: first of the morning, and sleep had not yet paid either of them a visit. So she turned to her consort and whispered a sweet hymn, and he responded with a growl and a marking of teeth that wrote his reason for sanity. He advocated his wonder at how soft her skin was despite the pricks and slices of an inflicted mind. His tongue soothed such scars, worshiping the resilient strength of her wrists that often were concealed in silk. Crimson hues drank in her breathless state, that no matter how harsh his bites were, her response was keen and demanding. Always wanting, with no room for words, yet concealed in shadows, they saw each other as if they were in light.

He gathered her pliant and willing form to him, settling himself between her legs and marked another psalm in her skin; by teeth, he marked how much closer to god he came to be. By this, by the sweet taste of her blood and sweat, he was made a believer. With her essence on his tongue and his eyes drinking her in, he felt his soul could almost be saved. _Almost._

There was no 'saving' them. They didn't need it. Together, they were whole. Together, their sin's felt right.

 _Together, they were home._


End file.
